Had It Right the First Time
by NoPondInTheForest
Summary: A breath-taking miracle, a dream come true. The Doctor was back with the girl he loved, and down to only one life, all he wanted was to spend it with her. If she wants. That's the part he wasn't so sure about. **Companion piece to "The Consequences of Dreaming"**
1. Chapter 1

**This is not the official sequel to "The Consequences of Dreaming", but is a companion piece that is both prequel and sequel (timey-wimey, right?) It can be read as standalone up to the last chapter, which contains major spoilers for TCOD.**

**Had It Right the First Time**

**Chapter 1**

* * *

><p>"'<em>Simple and easy'<em>, is it?"

The screech came out of nowhere and the Doctor nearly fumbled his sonic screwdriver. Oh, he was going to burn those slippers of hers. He swore Jackie wore them around constantly on purpose, just so she could sneak up on him.

He looked up to find her just inside the doorway, a glowering peroxide goblin. "I must've been mad to believe you could upgrade that security system without destroying half my foyer!"

He glared back but guilt kept him quiet. For once he knew exactly what she was on about.

The mansion's foyer was a lovely, high-ceilinged antechamber, not over-large but quite grand all the same, purposefully designed to make an impression. And to be fair, at the moment it still _would_, just, well, probably less for grandeur and more for its resemblance to a crime scene.

A glittering sea of metal components, rolls of coiled wire, tools, and bits and bobs that used to be part of the security panel made the floor virtually impassable, and the Doctor sat cross-legged in the middle of all of it, like some sort of blue pinstriped island. Next to the archway that led into the house was a gaping hole in the wall from which frayed wires poked haphazardly, all bent and twisted, as if the control panel had been ripped away in a fit of rage. Powdery chunks of drywall had fallen from the hole, coating the floor around them in a fine, white dust.

The Doctor gave the back of his neck a quick scratch. "I ended up having to reconfigure and rebuild the motherboard entirely, and since it wouldn't work with the original panel anymore I..." He paused. Jackie's face was like stone. "Why am I explaining myself to you?" he went on, gesturing dismissively before picking up the parts he'd dropped. "I know what I'm doing!"

Her hands went to her hips. "So what you're saying is that you meant for this to be a disaster? Look at this! And me with guests coming in just over an hour. How am I supposed to get them into the blinking house?" griped Jackie, as she gingerly picked her way a few steps closer to him.

"Well," mumbled the Doctor, eyeing her and wisely refraining from pointing out that the massive house had no less than half a dozen side and back entrances. "I could finish up much faster if you'll send Rose in-"

"Sorry, Doctor," said Jackie brusquely. "But I'm beyond busy getting things ready and now I'll need Rose to mind Tony. Unless you want him out here too, helpin' you?"

Wait, what? No, no, no. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He'd been counting on having help; he had, in fact, precisely calculated this level of chaos with exactly that in mind. And while he had accounted for possible distractions, there was only time for the giggling, teasing, whispering variety. And nowhere near enough for five hundred _give that here's_ and _sorry, Jackie, but we need to make an A&E run because I'm pretty sure he's swallowed a fuse._

"But... wait. _You're_ cooking? he asked, going a tiny bit bug-eyed. "Where's Alice?" The elderly housekeeper was one of the few staff Jackie kept on and the Doctor adored her, all lovely and doting and fond of him. Not to mention the maker of delicious nibbles.

"Off," said Jackie pointedly, as if he were being deliberately slow. "What are you implying, Doctor, that I can't do a simple lunch for only three guests? Never had servants on the Estate, did I? And like I said, they'll be here in a hour, so can you get this done in time on your own or not? Or I guess I could send Pete-"

"Nope, no, that's fine," said the Doctor hastily, eyes widening. "All under control. I've already finished the system modifications. I just, I just need to put it all back together." He took up his sonic, focusing it on the components in his lap and ignoring her until he heard her leave. Then he set it all gently on the floor, looked at the disarray surrounding him, and sighed.

Where had he gone wrong? He'd had it all plotted out; set into a nice little algebraic equation and everything.

_Guests(jackie+pete)+chaos=(doctor+rose)+chaos._ Chaos gets subtracted from both sides, everybody ends up happy. The elder Tyler's get their lovely little social hour. The Doctor gets a whole morning alone with Rose.

Now it seemed like all he'd be getting was a morning alone.

He'd miscalculated.

Again.

He just couldn't understand it. In spite of this incarnation's inordinate fondness for words (or the sound of his own voice, if you went by Rose's opinion on the matter) the Doctor had always been more of a numbers person.

No matter where he was in any universe, no matter when, they were his one constant. Mathematics was always reliable and endlessly useful, having applications everywhere- astronomy, science and technology, predictions and probabilities. Everything, complex and simple, had a formula and he could solve them all with ease. For example, he knew that although this new body was only 89.56% Time Lord, he was still 100% him. He could calculate the odds of his other self ever coming back here (billion to one) and predict precisely how far he can push Jackie without risking bodily harm.

He never met a variable he didn't like.

Until now.

Well, it wasn't as if he didn't like her. Quite the opposite actually, which was exactly his problem. It just seemed like no matter what he tried to accomplish these days- no matter how meticulous his plan or how solid his equation- once Rose Tyler (r) was added in, he'd get an unexpected result every time. Even with something as basic as, say, doctor+breakfast. Toss in that one little _r,_ and the next thing he knows he's burning the toast.

To not add her in- well, it was impossible, wasn't it? She occupied his mind constantly, intoxicating him when she was present and distracting him even when she wasn't. It had never been (quite) this bad when they were traveling together, and their current situation had it worsening by the day. The Doctor wasn't sure if the issue had more to do with his body's new dash of humanity or the fact that he was now _pursuing_ more with Rose just as desperately (and ineffectively?) as he used to be _avoiding_ it.

It was pointless to even try and deduce the ratios.

Worse, all these silly mistakes had him feeling increasingly insecure. Not that he'd executed all tasks with flawless perfection before he'd come to live here, but he was used to being impressive. It was part of what made him the Doctor.

He knew who he was, impressive or no, but he was so scared that he was giving Rose yet another reason to doubt him. He knew Pete Tyler was unsure, still sizing him up, wondering if he was maybe not quite the dynamic, brilliant alien who had freed the city from Lumic and his Cybers with an almost swaggering confidence and bravado, the hero who'd so recently returned the stars to the sky.

At least Jackie treated him the same as she always had. But then, she'd never been that impressed with him in the first place.

Bottom line- this problem was bound to continue until he figured Rose out.

No, figured them out.

_d(r)=?_

He was hopelessly in love with her, and he still didn't know where they stood.

* * *

><p>By the time Pete came out to check on things the Doctor had nearly everything back in order.<p>

"Well, this certainly looks impressive," said the older man, watching the Doctor finish the last of the programming, fingers running expertly over the sleek new touchscreen.

"It is," replied the Doctor, thrilled to pass inspection without any arguments. A few of the components he'd used, including the main monitoring panel in the foyer, could pass for Earth-made but weren't and he had wondered if Pete would let it go. Having had only bad alien encounters over the last few years, this world was going through a particularly xenophobic period, and owning off-world items could be dangerous. "I'd say that we can all rest easier," he continued. "Once activated, no uninvited guests, human or alien, will be able to enter the house undetected. That applies even if the being's form is non-corporeal, and Rose'll back me up when I tell you that those do exist. I've set it so that by the alarm's tone you will know instantly what you're dealing with, and if the code isn't entered within two minutes a call for help will be placed to the authorities. Or Torchwood. You know, whichever applies most."

Pete nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Oh, least I could do. Don't know why I haven't gotten to this before now."

He did know, however. Pete had been doing his level best to keep the Doctor busy since his arrival more than two weeks ago, probably because he knew the Doctor's reputation and didn't want anything blown up. Not that the Doctor minded the tinkering but for once in his life he hadn't been bored, not for a single second. How could he be, with Rose to stare at and talk to and try to make laugh? Hoping everyday that maybe if she laughs enough that _look_ in her eyes will go away, the one that's been like a wall between them.

"No harm done." Pete grabbed the broom from where it stood against the wall and began sweeping up the last remnants of dust. "Though I must admit, I will sleep better. Latest stats came in from Torchwood this morning. Alien activity's up 12% over what it was in March, which is the sharpest increase I've ever seen in a single 30 day span."

His tone was ever so slightly accusatory and the Doctor's jaw tightened. Pete obviously suspected that the increase was _his_ fault, that somehow his mere presence was attracting trouble. Only the fact that the man may very well be correct on that point kept a snide comment from escaping.

He rested his weight against the wall and changed the subject. "Anyway, your new system is ready for activation," he said, crossing his arms as he watched Pete bin the last of the dust. "But we should probably wait on that, yeah, since your guests should be here soon? Who are they again?" His curiosity was genuine. The Doctor had barely met a soul outside their immediate family since he'd arrived in this universe. He was pretty sure he knew the reason for this as well. Cautious man, Pete Tyler.

"Just some neighbors of ours," he replied, tucking the broom away in a cupboard. "The Valencourt's; Daniel, Beverly, and their son Andrew. Andrew promised Tony awhile ago that he'd help him build a playhouse, and it looks like today's the day. This is the first decent weather we've had since the stars came back."

"Sounds like a nice chap," said the Doctor, picturing a ten-year-old boy, maybe a skinny, acne-ridden teen. A playhouse would be a complicated project to take on, especially with the four-year-old's special brand of "help". He grinned. "Maybe I can lend them a hand."

Pete smiled blandly. "Oh, I doubt that'll be necessary."

* * *

><p>Rose wasn't in the playroom with Tony, and the Doctor paused by an open window to see if maybe she'd taken him out back. The air sifting in was soft and warm against his face, the slight breeze ruffling his fringe. He didn't find them but it was near impossible not to be taken in by this siren song of a gorgeous day, especially as it was the first in an unbroken line of cold, rainy ones. The expanse of green grass and woods before him had as yet gone mostly unexplored, and just looking at it fueled the Doctor's ever-growing itch to run off, and far beyond the mansion's grounds. He needed to <em>do <em>something. He'd been stuck in one place for much longer than this before, of course, but his lifespan was severely limited now. He wasn't sure Rose would go for it, though, and he's not going anywhere without her. Not ever again, if it was entirely up to him.

He hadn't joined her when she started back to work at Torchwood this week, and the evenings when she was home were too short, and full of interruptions. He was already so tired of living here in the mansion, of trying to sort things out with Rose when curious sets of eyes and ears were ever present. But her flat really wasn't an option for the two of them yet, being as it was a studio, and tiny. On the plus side, she hadn't moved back in there yet either, which he took as a very good sign.

Question: Was it a good enough sign? He stuck a hand in his hair, fingers raking along the back of his scalp, as he recklessly considered just going for it. He could grab her hand just like when they'd first met and ask her to run, only this time meaning it with every romantic implication.

Run away with him.

Marry him.

He even had the ring; made on one of his first nights here when his head was too full and his hands too empty and he'd needed something to keep them busy. Back when he was still giddy with the delusion that his life had miraculously become some sort of a fairy tale.

He knew now that it wasn't, exactly. At least not yet. He'd known they would need time to reconnect, to get to know one another again... but he had hoped (really, really hoped) for a fair bit more snogging. But so far, all they'd managed was to settle back into the same old frustratingly platonic song and dance, only this time it was Rose doing the holding back. The much-fixated upon kiss on the beach remained a one off, and much as the Doctor tried to convince himself it was because she was adjusting, or scared, he couldn't help but worry. What if she'd decided he wasn't really the man she loved? Forever one heart and a time-machine short of what she actually wanted?

Running his thumb along the delicate curve of the bejeweled band in his pocket, he forced the negative thoughts from his mind as he walked into the quiet kitchen and finally found her- amazingly, miraculously alone. Rose, dressed in jeans and a soft blue tee, had her back to him, and fresh cut flowers lay on the countertop before her. She was in her own little world, humming some song under her breath as she snipped stems, adding bloom after colorful bloom to a clear glass vase. The line of her shoulders was relaxed and happy, and she was so beautiful that the Doctor stared, momentarily overpowered by a tidal wave of love and longing.

Feeling tight-chested and breathless, it was all he could do to not step up close behind her and slip his arms around her waist, draw her body back into his own. It would be so easy. He imagined how she might relax into his embrace, tilt her head back to smile up at him...

He swallowed. Tempting as that image was, it was not a good idea, especially when she was still just as likely to tense at such an unexpectedly romantic gesture. Too risky.

Pining it was then.

Sensing his presence, Rose turned, a long-stemmed yellow lily in one hand. Her smile on seeing him was like the sun, like he was her favourite person in the world. "Hi."

"Hello." Heart rate picking up, his answering grin surely rivaled her own for brightness. "This looks like fun," he said after a beat, tearing his eyes from her face to focus on the flowers. "I see lilacs, peonies, a few hyacinth, yeah? What you have here, Rose Tyler, is a veritable fragrance medley," he said, slow and deliberate, liking how the phrase felt on his tongue. "I could smell them way down the corridor. Bit heavy for the house, don't you think?"

"No," said Rose, turning slightly and burying her face in the softness of a full, pink peony. "I think they smell lovely, all of 'em. Well, all except for the poor daylilies," she added, looking back at him and waving the yellow bloom she held in her hand. "But they're still beautiful."

"No fragrance, you say, for old Hemerocallis?" He let his eyes sparkle at her. "Now that is entirely untrue. You just haven't been smelling them right."

She shot him a skeptical look. "A person doesn't just go about smellin' things wrong, Doctor, not unless there's something wrong with their nose."

"No, really," he insisted. "Most people just don't get close enough, is all." He leaned toward her slightly and took a long, deep sniff. "Oh, that's gorgeous!" he proclaimed. "Go on, give it a whirl."

Rose inclined the bloom toward her face and inhaled delicately through her nose. "You're so full of it. I don't smell anything."

"Now that," he said in a high tone, nose scrunching up, "what you did right there, was a prime example of a person 'smellin' things wrong.' You weren't anywhere near close enough."

"Was lots closer than you got."

"Time Lord," he said, smug as anything. "You'll need to get right in there."

She slowly put the lily back to her nose, until the tip of it disappeared into the flower. "Still don't smell anything," she sing-songed, words muffled.

"Closer!" He put his hand on hers, assisting her until she had practically jammed the petals against her face.

Coughing and giggling, Rose shoved him off. She looked down at the partially crushed flower, then back up at him, swiping at her nose. "You're daft!"

"Still nothing, then?" he asked, all angelic innocence, which had Rose instantly suspicious. She looked at him sharply.

The smirk he'd been trying to smother broke free, and was immediately followed by a snicker.

Realization dawned and Rose's jaw dropped. "I've got yellow all over my nose, don't I?" she exclaimed, and when he couldn't help but laugh she smacked his arm, hard. "Git, you did that on purpose! I can't believe I fell for it; Mickey used to try'n trick me with dandelions all the time."

"Sorry," he managed, and tried to stop laughing. "Just, hold on. Hold still." Stepping close, he cupped his palm against her cheek, and carefully cleaned all traces of pollen off her nose with his thumb. "There, all better," he said, rough-voiced, lifting his eyes to lock with hers.

"Thanks." She held his gaze and he didn't remove his hand, eyes unconsciously dropping to her full pink lips. When she took the bottom one between her teeth he caught himself, eyes snapping to hers again. Her rosy blush told him she'd noticed, but she still didn't move, and her eyes were dark, soft and inviting. Oh, that was new. And surprising. And, as he dimly registered before impulse took over, a very, very good sign.

Slow and careful, as if he might spook her, he slid his hand down to cup her jaw, and his heart thundered wildly when she responded by leaning fully into his touch. His fingers near her throat could feel her pulse racing, and then he was done for, all rationality lost to this and a sudden flood of pheromones so potent that he could no longer smell the flowers.

Emboldened, he traced her bottom lip with his thumb, and then leaned in, fully intent on following his thumb's path with his mouth.

Their breath had already mixed when he felt Rose stiffen. His weighted eyelids flew open in time to see her turn her face away, removing it from his tender grasp.

He drew a sharp breath, the heady moment shattered. For a minute he floundered, shock followed by shame, and then he badly, badly wanted to kick himself. He would never, never, get this right; not if five minutes alone with her had his brain so impaired that it made him act like this was some sort of film and he's the hero whose kiss would solve everything.

Rose had wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes falling momentarily shut in awkward embarrassment. When she finally managed to make eye contact with him again, they spoke at the same time.

"Rose, I'm sorry, I just..."

"'m so sorry..."

They both paused, smiling a little, Rose chewing her lip and the Doctor trying to decipher the look in her eyes. He was glad to see it wasn't anger, or regret, or even fear, but it was darker than that, more desperate.

Guilt.

Longing too, and more than a hint of disappointment. He let these buoy him up but the first one made no sense. What could she possibly feel guilty about?

He stepped closer to her, determined to find out. "Look, Rose," he said quietly, fixed in her wary gaze, "I don't mean to push you into anything you don't want or feel ready for, but why-"

"What's going on?" came a voice from behind them. "I thought you were getting all of this set out on the dining room table, Rose?"

Stifling a groan, the Doctor turned along with Rose to see a casually dressed Jackie marching in with Tony on her heels, her arms full of cloth napkins. She dumped them on the countertop, where they joined a pile of dishes and cutlery and serving bowls, drinking and wine glasses.

"Sorry Mum," said Rose, going over there.

"Oh, I know how it goes; the minute I leave he shows up and then you two forget anything else in the world exists."

Ignoring this, Rose piled a handful of clinking silverware on the stack of plates, then the napkins on top of all before picking the whole load up to take to the dining room.

The Doctor grabbed a few glasses and tried to follow her but Jackie snagged his arm. "Instead of distracting my daughter, you can start the salad," she said, gesturing to a pile of uncut veggies sitting beside the sink. "And use an actual knife this time, not that metal alien stick-thing you love so much."

His scowl deepened. "It's a sonic screwdriver, Jackie, sonic as in sound waves, which if you'd only think about it for half a second is much safer than -"

They were interrupted by a screeching, deafening wail, alarms blaring like the house was afire.

"What's that?" yelled Jackie, clapping her hands over her ears.

Gritting his teeth, the Doctor raced for the security panel in a nearby lounge, set in the wall beside the glass patio doors. He really should have seen this coming, he should've known everything had gone far too smoothly with installing that new bloody security system. He reached it and began keying in the sequence of numbers to shut the noise down, to no avail. After what was probably less than a minute (but seemed like forever), he gave it up as a lost cause and took his sonic to it. One quick buzz later and all was quiet.

After briefly considering just hiding out for awhile until Jackie calmed down, he decided to go back and deal with it. "Sorry," he said, sheepishly pulling an earlobe as he reentered the kitchen. "I had to shut the system off entirely, not sure what...oh. Hello."

Now he knew why Jackie hadn't immediately resumed her yelling.

The guests had arrived.

Pete was there now too, having escorted in a rather poshly-dressed but smiling couple, a man and woman maybe a bit older than he and Jackie were. The man reminded the Doctor somewhat of the Brigadier- dark-haired and mustachioed, stoutly built but not fat. He and Pete stood just inside the kitchen's entrance, looking on in amusement as Jackie and a trim blonde woman greeted one another with tight hugs and lively chatter, as if they'd been separated for years. Pete saw the Doctor standing at the other end of the room and beckoned him over.

"Dan, this is Dr. John Smith, a long-time family friend. Goes by the Doctor. Doctor, this is Dan Valencourt."

"Pleasure," said the Doctor, shaking hands.

"Good to meet you," said Dan. "That's my wife, Bev," he added, tipping his head, "but I think she's a bit busy for introductions at the moment. Thick as thieves, those two are." The two blondes were already on the other side of the room, laughing away as Jackie opened a bottle of white wine.

"Bev?" said the Doctor, trying to remember where he'd heard that name before.

Pete smiled at him, knowingly. "Thought you weren't going to activate that new security system until later tonight."

"I didn't," the Doctor told him, trying not to sound defensive, "I don't know why..."

He trailed off. Rose was coming back through the large arch to the dining room, laughing brightly and looking up at a tall young man the Doctor had never seen before. His eyes narrowed as it instantly occurred to him that maybe the security system hadn't malfunctioned after all. While it wasn't meant to go off at human presence it was very definitely set to detect an unidentified alien one, and the Doctor was pretty sure that was exactly what he was looking at right now. A shimmer; that's what it was. The creature had to be wearing a shimmer and it was a bad one at that, as obviously artificial as a blooming box of flowers on an icy window ledge. Not even Jack Harkness had sported such symmetrical facial features, with skin the perfect shade of summer bronze (when there hadn't even been any sunshine!) and thick hair golden blonde all the way to the roots. No way that could be natural. The Doctor fingered his sonic screwdriver, biding his time, jaw set. One quick scan was all it would take...

Rose caught his eye and they came over to him. "Doctor," said Rose, "this is Andrew Valencourt."

His hard expression relaxed into one of confusion. The son? The one who was supposed to be Tony's friend; come to help him build a playhouse?

His left eyebrow slowly lifted. Okay. So the man was a neighbor, and not an alien. He could accept that.

But if he had come here to see _Tony_, then the Doctor was a fat, stinking Slitheen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Andrew Valencourt greeted him with a friendly handshake and a sparkling, toothpaste-ad smile. The Doctor smiled back tightly, his eyebrow arching just a tad more at the viselike grip on his hand, taking in the bloke's puffed out chest, his ramrod straight spine. Classic alpha posturing.

Ape tricks. As if any of that would work on a Time Lord. His people had never needed such tactics to be intimidating. For them, it was all in the eyes, and the Doctor didn't bother hiding the storm beginning to brew in his own.

Rose watched them nervously. "Andrew, this is the Doctor- well, John Smith, called the Doctor. He's, um, my..."

She trailed off and side-eyed the Doctor hesitantly.

He ended the stare-down to gape at her for a moment. "Old friend," he finally filled in, hastily. "Weeeellll, good friend, really good. The best, in fact."

And then the ape relaxed, as if the Doctor had just set his mind at ease. Which was the exact opposite of what the Doctor had intended. He wanted the bloke to retreat, maybe hang his head a little, as if acknowledging his imminent defeat. Not look at Rose with an (if it was possible) even more confident set to his shoulders.

Friend. The Doctor realized that it had been the wrong thing to say. Yet what else could he say? It wasn't as if they'd ever discussed it. But just for arguments sake, if they would have that ever so unlikely conversation, what would they pick? That's he's her... her what? Boyfriend? He suppressed a cringe, feeling as if he'd just been put on par with Mickey. Significant other was rubbish. Plus one? He liked that, but it wouldn't really work unless they were at a party, and this was most definitely not one. So what did that leave him with?

Friend. Best friend, but nonetheless a term that just seemed to smack with the implication that there was nothing more between them- and worse, that there wasn't likely to be, leaving Rose far, far too available for the Doctor's liking.

"Surprised I haven't seen you around," said the blonde-haired man, upper arms bulging as he crossed them across his broad chest. "I live nearby, you know, and I've spent a lot of time visiting here."

The Doctor glanced at Rose, but she seemed quite intent on staring at his tie, a funny look on her face. He reached up and fiddled with the loose knot. "I was... out of the country."

"Oh? So you work abroad, then?" His tone was one of idle interest but the question was leading, almost like a prosecutor quizzing a defendant. The Doctor pursed his lips, fairly sure where Biceps was going with this.

"Something like that," he replied, slowly. "Now... well, I'm looking for a job here." He wasn't, but he had taken to saying this lately, as a way to put off working for Torchwood.

"Oh, that shouldn't be very difficult, with you being a doctor and all, yeah?"

The Doctor merely looked at him. "I mean," he went on, "with a nickname like yours, surely you can't blame me for assuming you've got the credentials to back it up."

Assuming otherwise, more like.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to boast," replied the Doctor breezily, refusing to be baited. Rose snorted.

Andrew raised his eyebrows. "I went to Cambridge myself, and now I'm a family practitioner at Albion. So it looks like Rose might have two doctors on her hands today."

"What, again?" muttered Rose, under her breath. "Heaven help me."

* * *

><p>Andrew was polite, Andrew was helpful. Andrew was a flawless specimen of human male (sonic confirmed) and he'd also offered to the cooking, thereby earning himself a free and lifetime pass into Jackie's good graces.<p>

Oh, and he was apparently more entertaining than a celebrity chef. For this reason no one, including Rose, noticed the Doctor at all. Even though his chopping skills were impressive and he'd cut up every last vegetable in record time, into perfect bite-sized bits.

Applause erupted behind him, along with laughter and Jackie's voice. "Oh, go ahead, you can't overdo it!"

From his place at the cutting board beside the sink, Doctor glanced over his shoulder. Everyone sat around the large, granite-topped island in the middle of the kitchen, and at the stove set into one side of it, Andrew was working his magic. He had a bottle of expensive wine in one hand and, to everybody's delight, dashed even more of it into both a pan of chicken cutlets and another one of simmering mushrooms. Then he leaned forward, stretched out a muscular arm, and topped up the wine glasses of Jackie, Mrs. Valencourt, and Rose. They beamed at him, giggling.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and turned back to his vegetables, scooping up the last of the carrots and added it to the bowl. He told himself he had no reason to feel jealous; the man was a neighbor, for Rassilon's sake, and certainly nothing special. It wasn't _him_ that Rose had hopped dimension after dimension in search of. Yet the other man was the one who was over there, center of everybody's attention, showing off and being worshipped like he was some sort of Adonis. While he, last of the Time Lords (sort of) went completely ignored.

He knew, however, that this wasn't was really troubling him. What if... could... did that bloke have anything to do with the guilt he'd seen in Rose's eyes earlier? Perhaps she had at one time been in a relationship here; it wasn't as if he'd out and out asked her. He'd just assumed.

The other thing he'd assumed was that he would never have any real competition for Rose's affections. Just because he never had before, when he was a full Time Lord.

But he had been out of Rose's life for years, and in some (as yet unknown) way, Andrew Valencourt had been in it. And while a Time Lord may have been the perfect match for a girl who wanted to spend her life roaming time and space, now that Rose was stuck here too, living a day to day life on Earth, what if she decided she wanted someone who was better at being...well, human? He stole another quick look at the other man, who was the ideal masculine embodiment of that very thing. The one thing he could never be. And a strange, sickly feeling crept over him, something like _inferiority_, stealing in through the minuscule chinks in his armor and lodging itself uncomfortably under his skin.

He tensed, trying to think of a way to rid himself of the unfamiliar, unwelcome emotion. Had he _ever_ felt inferior before? He didn't know, but it was not at all enjoyable. In fact, he wasn't so sure he could handle it.

There were entire civilizations out there that sang songs in his praise. Entire military organizations that couldn't accomplish what he alone could, with his brains and his biology and his TARDIS. It was part of what it meant to be the Doctor, and though in his previous life he hadn't often felt the need to shout it out when meeting new people, he had never been obliged to hide who he was, either.

But here, unless something happened to drastically change the planet-wide view on aliens, he could be publicly known as nothing more than John Smith, human man, maybe for the rest of his life if he never got his TARDIS coral growing properly. Not even the alien-accustomed agents of Torchwood would accept him if they discovered what he truly was.

No wonder Pete was keeping such a wary eye on him.

Feeling morose, he flicked a bit of lettuce off the cutting board and into the sink. He had been so enamored with the idea of this simple human life. How had some of these realities never before occurred to him? Adding salt to the wound, someone else was impressing Rose and maybe she was falling for him instead, and all he was doing about it was making a stupid, boring salad. Who even eats salad, anyway? He certainly wasn't about to. Not when it's got carrots in.

He picked up the veggie-laden bowl and left the kitchen to deposit it on the dining table, and then, hands in pockets, made his way back to join the others. Though there was one open stool on Jackie's right, the Doctor hovered just behind everyone, an unnoticed orbiting asteroid. He wasn't exactly looking to join the conversation, and he was in no mood to sit beside Rose's mother. Especially when he had no clue how many glasses of wine she'd had so far.

The one group conversation had split into three, and the Doctor focused in on Rose and Andrew's. They were talking about work (specifically his) and the Doctor grew a bit uneasy. What might Rose say about her own job? Officially, Rose Tyler, Vitex heiress, sat on the board for Vitex, her real employment a heavily guarded secret from all but her nearest and dearest. This family was obviously more than just neighbors to the Tyler's. He had come to realize that Mrs. Valencourt, Bev, was, in fact, the woman Jackie yammered on with over the phone on a near daily basis. So how close was Rose to the son?

He didn't get to find out. In the middle of regaling Rose with a tale of one of his miraculous cures, Andrew paused altogether, poking at the chicken with a fork. "Whoops, don't want to over-cook this!" He twisted the burner off and carried the pan over to set it on the countertop near the sink.

Pete got up, two empty glasses in hand, turned around and noticed him. "Oh, Doctor, there you are. Would you like a drink?"

"What?" said the Doctor absently, his eyes tracking the blonde man as he returned to the stove, took up the pan of mushrooms, carefully adjusted the heat under another pan, and then went back over to the other side of the kitchen.

"Doctor? A drink?"

The glass Pete was holding up was given a fleeting glance. "No."

Pete disappeared and now Jackie was helping Andrew plate the hot food, which everyone else took as a hint to begin to migrating to the dining room. The Doctor went to the stove to inspect the contents of the last pan sitting there.

He blinked in surprise. It was bananas. Bananas and nothing else, in some sort of thick dark liquid that was just beginning to bubble. Now this was interesting. He looked up for Rose, to ask her about it, but she was already gone. He turned his attention back to the bananas. Though everything else had finished cooking they certainly hadn't, still mostly white and raw looking in their mysterious sea of brown sauce. The Doctor raised a scornful eyebrow. Mr. Perfect Chef hadn't timed things right at all. And wasn't that- the timing- one of the most important points of cooking? Downright shameful is what it was, that this was the only dish not ready to go to the table.

He sniffed. Good thing he had noticed, and was uniquely equipped to set things right.

He watched Jackie and Andrew disappear into the dining room, each laden down with platters of food.

Then the Doctor poked a hand inside his jacket and fished for the sonic.

* * *

><p>They'd had to relocate lunch to the back patio, but the smell of smoke was still strong, and even more than two hours later hadn't dissipated entirely.<p>

Jackie wouldn't give up shooting dirty looks his way, from where she and her friend were busily gossiping and setting out the first spring annuals. Flats of seedlings covered a large portion of the patio with bright, riotous multi-color, destined for the many wide-brimmed stone pots dotting the lengthy, waist-high wall that ran the perimeter of the patio. It was a springtime task that the mansion's new mistress delighted in, and she refused to leave it to the gardener.

"Why's your mum keep looking at me that way? I told her I was sorry," the Doctor complained to Rose, from where he had perched on the wall, watching her pot a crimson geranium with dirty, gloved hands. "She's the one who left that cookbook right next to the stove! Who puts liquor in with bananas, anyway? I reckon that bloke is an alcoholic; he adds it to everything. Even the salad had wine in," he added, tossing a suspicious look the man's way.

The accused could be seen at the far edge of the grounds, near the woods, patiently helping the littlest Tyler pound a nail into a length of wood siding that the newly constructed playhouse was just beginning to acquire. Alcoholic or no, Andrew was an undeniably talented carpenter. The structure had gone up quickly and he'd done most of the work himself, even though Pete and Mr. Valencourt had been down there the entire time. Their main contribution had consisted of offering witty commentary and popping open fresh bottles of beer.

The Doctor hadn't been asked for his help and he hadn't offered it either. There were few skills he hadn't honed in his life but carpentry was one of them, having never had much need for it when the place he'd lived in for centuries had been grown and not built. Anyway, it wasn't as if he _couldn't_ do it, if he wanted to. He didn't want to. It looked boring and basic and not a single part of the tiny house was set in another dimension. Besides, the universe seemed to have its heart set on making a fool of him whenever it could today, and he wasn't about to give it another opportunity.

He might have minded it more, being assumed incompetent, if he didn't currently have Rose all to himself. He was doubly happy about this because Andrew _had_ asked her to come work with him and she'd refused, saying she needed to help her mum.

That was a good sign, wasn't it?

Or maybe she just liked Jackie better than either one of them.

Rose was grinning at him. "It was just the tiniest bit of wine in the dressing. Mum's the one who made it. How did you know that, anyway? It's not as if you tried any salad."

"Told you once already, my olfactory-" but Rose had picked up on his slight hesitation. Her eyes brightened in gleeful realization.

"Oh my god, you sonicked it, didn't you? Cos if you didn't smell the rum in the Bananas Foster, there's no way you smelled a tiny bit of wine in the salad!"

He frowned, unwilling to let his superiority take yet another blow today. "Well, it's not like I couldn't have, Rose! I didn't notice it, is all, it was so unexpected..."

"Well, Bananas Foster is supposed to have rum in, for the flambé. I'm surprised you haven't heard of it, but seriously, Doctor, don't try and tell me you've never mixed liquor and bananas." She gave him a knowing look. "Mister, 'I've just invented the Banana Daiquiri'."

He winced.

Leaning over, Rose nudged his leg with her elbow. "C'mon, I'm just windin' you up."

Silence stretched on between them for a minute or so. Rose added another seedling geranium to the pot and patted down the soil around it. Not for the first time, he noticed how graceful she had become since working for Torchwood. "Does that bloke know you fight aliens for a living?" It popped out before he thought.

She brushed the dirt from her hands and gave him an amused look. "I don't fight aliens... okay, maybe I do, if by 'fight' you mean bicker with, and it's only one alien. And I don't get paid for it. I wish I did."

"Hilarious."

Pulling her gloves off, she plopped down beside him on the wall. "Doctor, you know that nobody knows that our family runs Torchwood. Why do you think I'd tell Andrew?"

He shrugged. "Don't know, you just seem...close."

For a second she looked as if she might laugh, but then she pressed her lips tight and furrowed her brow, looking regretful. "I've really been confusing you, haven't I?"

"A bit, yeah."

"Hey. Look at me. My parents are good friends with the Valencourts. Andrew's a nice bloke, but..."

"But what?"

She shot a look across the lawn, then leaned in to whisper to the Doctor as if the bloke in question might hear her. "He's boring."

His heart swelled; he wasn't sure if there was any other adjective he'd have rather heard her use. Rose hated boring. And it was a term which could surely never be used to describe _him_.

Rose developed an evil glint in her eye. "_And_ he hates bananas."

"What?" breathed the Doctor in horrified delight, like an old aunt hearing juicy gossip. "Why'd your mum choose that for a dessert, then? I thought he was her special pet or something."

"Um, she didn't? Actually, it was my idea."

The reluctant way she admitted it had him intrigued. "Really? Why?"

"Oh, I dunno. Thought you might like it." She smiled shyly, gaze darting his way, and he couldn't help but react to that with a broad, flirtatious grin.

"Weelllll, then it's a pity I didn't get to-"

A yell came from across the patio. "Oi, Doctor! If you've got nothing else to do today some of these topiaries could use a trimmin'!"

He shot Jackie a dark look. He considered arguing with her but it wasn't worth it, not with all these other people around. No wonder he couldn't ever figure out this thing with him and Rose when he couldn't even finish a conversation with her. Yet he couldn't move out of this house without them resolving their relationship. A trap, that's what it was.

With a reluctant "talk to you later", he left Rose and plodded over to the other side of the house, picking up the clippers from Jackie on his way. The largest topiary sat in a massive pot, right at one of the mansion's back corners, and it was so tall that even he would just barely be able to reach to trim it all. The leafy bottom was large and rounded, growing progressively smaller until it came to a point on top. In all, it reminded him of something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He pondered it over, momentarily forgetting all his other frustrations.

As the Doctor began to snip away the overgrown bits he realized what it was; the bush looked just like a one-horned Y'Corican, right down to the colour and everything. Well, it would. If it had arms. And a trimmer waist. And huge, bulging eyes and an external digestive tract.

Fantastic creatures, friendly too. He wondered if the race even existed in this universe. If it didn't, it should.

He started clipping faster, grinning to himself.

It really, really should.

* * *

><p>"What'd you go and do that for?" demanded the Doctor, especially indignant with everybody's eyes on him. Jackie's horrified scream had brought them all running. "Did you think it was real or something?"<p>

"You turned my topiary into some sort of alien! You ruined it!"

"It's beautiful!"

Drawing himself up to his full height, the Doctor crossed his arms stubbornly as he faced down Rose's irate mother. Her nostrils flared, and her heavy blue eyeshadow accentuated her angry, bulging eyes, making her look even more dangerous. His jaw clenched. Talk about an overreaction- the woman was ridiculous! There was no way he was backing down from this!

Rose was the first one to lose it. It started as a huge snort of air from her nose and then she gave over, bent forward, laughing and laughing and laughing, red-faced and gasping, tears streaming and everything. Of course this was highly contagious and moments later her dad and all three of the Valencourts had joined in, leaving the Doctor and Jackie somehow on the same side, both equally unhappy to be the butt of the joke.

"C'mon, Jacks," said Pete, wiping his eyes and taking hold of her wrist when she looked to be in danger of storming off. "It's not that big of a deal. If you hate it that much we can turn it to face the house." He began guiding her away from the ruined topiary. "Tony's new playhouse is just about finished, yeah? Why don't we all go over and see it?"

"Yeah!" yelled Tony, bouncing around. "C'mon, Mummy!" He took her by the hand, tugging, and when she didn't move fast enough, dropped it in favor of dashing across the lawn. The rest of the group followed in his wake, except for the Doctor, who hung back alone, dropping to sit on the patio wall with his feet in the grass. His spirits lifted a bit when Rose suddenly turned around, hand shielding her eyes from the sun, obviously searching for him. She spotted him and trudged back, coming to stand directly in front of him.

He looked up at her.

"Sorry I laughed," she said, grinning and not looking very sorry at all.

He gave her a small smile. "It's okay. It was funny." He then added, impulsively, "I seem to doing a lot of that lately. Funny things. Stupid things. Can't seem to get anything right."

She kicked the toe of her shoe against his, lightly. "Really?" she asked, tilting her head, her tongue in her smile. "Why's that, do you think?"

"Oh, I dunno," he said, shrugging as he watched the others filing into the playhouse. "Probably just my way of attempting to get your attention. Cos of how, you know, how you've always had a thing for idiots and all."

She huffed, and gave the white toes of his trainers a harder kick. "Shut up," she said, and then- "Wait. Are you serious about that?"

"About you liking idiots?"

She glared. "No, that a few mistakes suddenly makes you one? So you've destroyed some stuff and got caught breaking into Torchwood and yeah, the fire today wasn't your first. I'm just surprised that you haven't burned down the entire _house_ by now."

"Wow, thanks," he grumbled. "Great to see how you have so much faith in me."

She ignored his tone. "You're the Doctor, so much larger than life that you're meant to have all of time and space-" Rose shook her head, and plonked down on the wall directly beside him. "Keeping you here, stuck on one planet, s'like...setting off fireworks indoors cos I'm too selfish to share them. There's gonna be damage."

Sincerely taken aback, the Doctor pondered her words. They struck a chord in him that was one part confusion, two parts elation. He went with the elated part first, the part where she had just called him 'the Doctor'. "So none of it has made you believe I'm not me?"

She breathed out a laugh. "Quite the question, coming from the man who blew up my job first time I met him!"

He conceded the point with a grimace, laughing a little. "So... indoor fireworks, eh?" he said, thinking back over what else she had said. "I'm not so sure I like that analogy."

"Well, it was either that or the one about housebreaking a tiger."

There was a note of something in her voice he couldn't quite decipher. He turned his head to look at her, but her face was hidden by a curtain of hair as she sat with shoulders hunched, idly scratching at a dirty spot on the knee of her jeans.

"That's fine, I just didn't like the part where you claimed to be selfish."

She was silent, motionless but for her fingers, nails rasping dully against the rough denim.

"Surely you shouldn't feel responsible for all this, for me being here," he said. "You didn't plan it. Besides," he added, and cleared his throat, "I _want_ this. I gave my old life up willingly. You're the one who didn't really get a choice, and I'm sorry for that. But he manipulated everything."

"I know," she said quietly, without looking at him. "I'm angry with _him _about that, not you, so you needn't apologize for it. Mostly though, I'm just... so angry with myself. I promised him my forever, you know? And in the end he's still alone, since I can only be with one of you."

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. She was upset because she couldn't keep her promise to both of him, but only to one- the one who had stayed. But if (_oh, joyful thought!_) she intended to be with him, why had she been pushing him away? The Doctor's head spun, and he wanted to reach for her, wanted to pursue that subject further, but this wasn't the time. Not while she was still unsettled, her body language tight and closed off.

"That is in no way your fault, Rose," he stated gently, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. "You aren't the one who made two of us."

Rose drew a deep breath. "Aren't I?" she murmured, on the exhale. He frowned, but before he could think of a reply to that Rose grabbed his hand and jumped to her feet, tugging him up along with her. "C'mon."

* * *

><p>The playhouse was not only small, it was rudimentary and extremely rustic. The most exciting feature it could boast was a set of five shelves going up one side wall. The Doctor and Rose walked in to overhear Andrew proudly pointing them out.<p>

"...a place where you can keep all your toys, isn't that right, Tony?"

Tony didn't answer, though he did seem to be extremely fond of the shelves. His preferred use for them was as a sort of a ladder, to climb up to the highest one and then jump off, over and over. Even the Doctor thought this looked a bit dangerous, but no one could discourage the four year old.

"Place is a bit boring, innit?" the Doctor said to Rose in an undertone. "Should've at least been built in a tree, underground would have been nice too. How's he gonna keep people out? There's not even a lock on the door."

"Rude," said Jackie, overhearing him.

"Well," the Doctor shot back, unapologetic, "it's true. Look around. I mean really, who could live here?"

"It's not meant to live in, you twat," says Jackie. "It's a playhouse."

"Thought playing was meant to be fun," he replied, under his breath.

Ten seconds later, any fun to be had was over when Tony jumped again, badly. And this time, Jackie's bloodcurdling scream was mildly justified.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the delay on this one; it got more complicated than I anticipated. And much, much thanks to YouCleverBoys- Tony's playhouse is loads cooler thanks to her. :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

* * *

><p>"Head wounds always bleed a lot," said the Doctor, his voice low and soothing as he crouched beside the panicked mother.<p>

Jackie was knelt on the floor of the playhouse, hovering helplessly over her injured little boy as the young human doctor tried to attend to his injury. Gently, with a little upward pressure on Jackie's elbow, the Time Lord finally encouraged her to stand and move back out of the way. "Don't worry about the bleeding," he repeated.

"But it just...it just looks so awful," she choked, wiping her eyes.

It did look awful, blood soaking through the folds of the tee-shirt that Andrew had stripped off and pressed tight to the injury on Tony's forehead. But how it looked didn't bother the Doctor. What bothered the Doctor was that the little boy had ceased his own sobs and was growing increasingly incoherent.

"Call 999," said Andrew, right before Tony lost consciousness. Jackie's crying increased. Rose pulled her mobile out and dialed the number with shaking hands.

The Doctor took a white-faced Pete aside. "You need to let me take over," he told him, low. "Now. We can't wait for an ambulance."

Pete stared at him for a moment, then acquiesced with one quick nod. "Alright. I'll just..." He gestured, helplessly. "I'll have Dan and Bev wait outside, watch for the medics."

"Might be best."

As Pete ushered the couple through the door, the Doctor swiftly dropped to his knees on the floor next to Andrew.

"What do you think you can possibly do?" asked Andrew, sounding edgy. He eyed the now bespectacled Doctor, who was leaning in to peer closely at the boy. "He's got a concussion. Or worse," he mouthed, so as to not be overheard.

"I'm going to treat him."

Eyebrows going up, the man gave him a look that was both irritated and disbelieving. "You can't..." He drew in a long breath and blew it out, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. "Look, are you even a real doctor?"

"Oh, you have no idea," muttered the Doctor, as he used his thumb to carefully lift one of Tony's closed eyelids. With his other hand he slipped out his sonic screwdriver, which whirred, tip glowing blue as he scanned the boy's retina. Holding the sonic up, he relaxed slightly as he read the results. "Intracranial hematoma. I can deal with that. Might take a few minutes."

Andrew scoffed. "What, now you've diagnosed him?"

"Yep. You can keep holding him." With careful hands, the Doctor turned the boy's face his way. Once he was satisfied with the positioning he carefully lifted the makeshift bandage, revealing the large goose-egg near Tony's hairline, and the raw, jagged tear in the center of it. It immediately started bleeding again, in earnest.

"Oi, that's not helping-"

"Shut up," said the Doctor, his brow furrowed in concentration. The voice of the sonic pitched high and he trained its light directly over the wound while the blood continued to run, trickling in a crimson line across Tony's forehead and dripping on to the floor.

Andrew made a incredulous sound in his throat and looked up and over his shoulder. "Jackie, do you see this-"

"Shut _up_," she repeated, adamantly.

Blinking in surprise, Andrew did as told, especially once he shifted his gaze back to the boy and found the bleeding had already significantly slowed. Soon, the ragged cut was nothing more than a sticky red line, and the Doctor fiddled with his screwdriver's settings again, intensifying its power to permeate tissue and bone.

Several slow, deliberate adjustments, one extraordinarily steady hand and a few tension-ridden minutes later, Tony's eyes blinked open. The five other inhabitants of the tiny, crowded playhouse breathed a collective sigh of relief. After scooping the boy into his own arms, the Doctor stood, handing him to his mother just as the wailing ambulance pulled into the drive.

"He should probably still be taken to hospital," Andrew told him quietly, only this time his voice held a bit of reluctant respect.

The Doctor turned to the boy's father. "It's up to you. His healing might be kind of hard to explain," he said, indicating the sonic. "But he'll be fine."

"Rose, love," said Pete, not breaking eye contact with the Doctor. "Will you run and tell the medics that it's just a false alarm. That we overreacted, yeah?"

"Alright," she agreed readily, and took off.

Pete uneasily regarded Andrew. He was staring at the mysterious silvery tool in the Doctor's hand, his curiosity intense and undisguised. Snapping his fingers to get the blonde man's attention, the Doctor made cold, unflinching eye contact with him. "This is brand new tech," he said, his voice clear and hard. He held the screwdriver out vertically, pinched between thumb and forefinger. "Absolutely cutting edge. And the design is not only secret, it's also all mine." He gave the sonic a quick flip, then in one smooth movement caught and pocketed it. "If you breathe a word about this to anyone, don't think for one second that I won't sue you for everything you've got."

The Doctor caught Pete's grateful look.

The young doctor swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Right."

* * *

><p>"Just as all that food arrives at the house, you disappear," came a familiar voice. Jerking his head up, the Doctor found Rose coming in through the door. "It's not like you."<p>

"How'd you find me?" The windows were dark against her back and the Doctor realized how late it was already.

"Saw the lights in here," she said absently, eyes tracking all over the interior of the playhouse. "Which should've been impossible, since it wasn't wired for light. So I knew it was you. Looks like that wasn't all you've done."

"Well, you know," he said, trying (and probably failing) to sound modest.

Rose was silent for a moment, turning this way and that, taking it all in.

The playhouse, while still overly plain on the outside, now boasted an interior that was anything but. Wood walls had been lined with some sort of dull, silvery metal, which reflected the yellowish-orange-coloured lighting and set the room aglow, making it appear far bigger than it actually was. A stainless steel workbench, already loaded down with all sorts of small, tech-y looking gadgets, plus toys and games from the playroom, ran the length of an entire sidewall. On the wall opposite, the bookshelves that had caused so much trouble earlier had been removed, and a couple of cushioned chairs (nicked from the gazebo) took their place.

The Doctor suppressed a smile as he watched Rose's eyes finally land on the source of the lighting- a clear glass cylinder set vertically in the centre of the room. It ran from the ceiling down into a large, vaguely mushroom-shaped base, which he had just begun to embellish with all sorts of dials and knobs. The instant her eyes widened he knew she'd recognized it.

She didn't comment, however, just gestured toward the image displayed on the flatscreen monitor that he'd mounted on the faux-console. "You gave him CCTV?"

"Yep. Top of the line security system, too." He gestured vaguely to the back of the door, which now sported an impressive locking mechanism, wires running in and out of it every which way. "Not even the hordes of Genghis Kahn could get through there."

A bit of alarm stole across Rose's face. "My mum's not gonna get zapped by that, is she, if she tries to get in?"

"No. Well," he reconsidered, pulling off his glasses, "possibly. I suppose I could shut part of it down. Anyway, I linked the visual display terminal to the mansion's security cameras, plus I mounted another camera right outside the door," he pointed, "so Tony'll be able to see everything that's going on anywhere on the grounds. Or I guess he can use them to watch his favorite channels on telly."

Rose laughed. "Mum's gonna love that," she said. "She won't be able to bribe him to come inside at all anymore, not even to watch CBeebies." She looked around, taking it all in again. Her gaze sharpened slightly as it veered off to the workbench behind him. "Is that a _drone_?" She leaned, trying to get a better look and he made a face, shifting his body to block her view. "It is, isn't it, one of Torchwood's spy drones!"

"He's a little boy, Rose," he explained, scratching at a sideburn and feeling inexplicably embarrassed. "He doesn't want a playhouse, he wants a place where he can be a hero. Somewhere he can escape from his foes."

"Foes?" Amusement was thick in her voice.

"Well, you know. Anyone who's trying to make him do something he doesn't want to." He shot her a grin, which she matched.

"I get it. So the TARDIS was your playhouse, then?"

"Oh, definitely," he said, laughing, and went over to her. "I think I'm done in here for tonight. Want to take a walk or something?"

"Sure." A rush of cool evening air hit them as Rose opened the door. Stepping out after her into the grass, the Doctor saw that the lower level of the mansion was all lit up; the Valencourts must not have left yet. He was glad to be heading in the opposite direction. A companionable silence fell between him and Rose as they reached the woods, turning to track just along its outskirts.

The moon was half-risen, full and yellowy white. Bits of broken light sifted through the trees' shadowy canopy, creating changeable patterns on Rose's shining hair and adding brightness to the waning pink and blue twilight. Scattered clumps of lilac bushes dished out their heavy fragrance, bringing back to his mind the cut flowers of hours earlier; how lovely Rose had looked whilst arranging them, and then, the feel of her silky smooth cheek under his palm. The rush of adrenaline, as he'd very nearly kissed her.

With a pang of longing, he glanced down at their unlinked hands. Rose leaned over to bump him with her shoulder, peering up playfully through her lashes like an impish forest pixie. "So," she said, lips curving up. "Do I even want to know how you got all that tech for the playhouse?"

He returned the shoulder bump. "Your dad stores a lot of stuff around here."

"Aha, so is that what you did, all this week while I was working? Familiarized yourself with the contents of the outbuildings?"

"And you supposed I was doing what, exactly?" he retorted, as they slowed, coming to face each other under one of the property's ancient oak trees. A battered old swing dangled from a thick, outstretched branch. "Sitting around all day? Sipping tea with your mum?" He tilted his head, smirking. "Pining for your presence?"

Rose lowered herself onto the swing. "Hope not," she said, pointing her toes straight out, focusing on them instead of him. She pumped a few times, quickly, to set the swing going, and then hung backwards, looking up at the sky.

"Only the last bit," he went on, rather loudly, unwilling to let this particular door shut now that it'd been cracked open just enough for him to jam a foot in. When she ignored him he went closer, waited for her to pass by on the upswing, then grabbed, yanking hard on one of the ropes. The swing twisted sideways and Rose shrieked, legs out and hair flying as she went whirling, faster than either of them expected.

With some clever maneuvering he got hold of the second rope with his free hand, brought the swing to an abrupt halt and, without allowing the ropes to untwist, hauled it, and Rose, right up into him. "I missed you," he clarified, as if she might have missed his point.

Her cheeks were a bit too pink, hair spun into a tangled mess. "You could come and work with me, if you're bored," she said, in a tone that was carefully casual. "You know Dad would love it."

He readjusted his grip on the ropes. "I don't care what your dad thinks, Rose. But I'd do it in a heartbeat, if I knew _you'd_ like me to."

She fidgeted like she wanted to get away, but she was caged in, her knees brushing his thighs and his fists clutching the ropes on either side of her head. "I don't want-" She sighed. "I don't want you to do things just to make me happy. Doesn't seem right."

He made a face, a subtle chastisement. "Why not?"

"Because...too much of this," she gestured vaguely at him, "actually all of it, has been for me already."

"Okay, I don't entirely understand what you mean by that, but doing things to make each other happy- isn't that what people do when they're..."

She stared at him, stiffening slightly, then looked off toward the house. "What, Doctor? 'Friends'?"

Ooh, now they might be getting somewhere. His use of the term had upset her; it was obvious as could be. And he felt anything but sorry about it.

"Always," he began slowly, "but..." Her gaze swerved back, riveting to his. "I couldn't find the right word, earlier. For us. I know so many words, Rose, but I just couldn't figure out why nothing seemed to fit. But now I know why. There's only one label I ever want to give you, only one that's right."

When he hesitated she prompted him on. "What, Doctor?"

"Wife."

Rose inhaled, sharp and quick. "What did you say?"

His mouth hung open. What had he just done? They didn't need grand romantic gestures, they needed to talk. All personal and revealing and possibly painful, and he'd be rubbish at it, and...

...and now her lips were turning up, her eyes gone soft and warm and looking at him- as if he were some sort of small, adorable creature to be cuddled and maybe, possibly adopted, even against her better judgment.

Surely that was a good sign?

"Wife," he repeated, recklessly. "My wife. So will you, Rose? Will you let me tell everyone you're my wife? Starting with that gorilla in your mum's lounge?"

Something dark crossed her face. "Only you," she muttered, looking down, "could be so unaware and competitive."

"What?" he said, thoroughly confused. "I'm not competitive. How could I be competitive, when literally no one on this planet could compete with me? Is this your way of letting me down easy? Oh, it's too fast, isn't it? I mean, I get it, I've only been here a couple weeks and all, of course you aren't sure yet what you want, or who I am and..."

She silenced him, quite effectively with her fingers against his lips. "Wait. Wait. Were you..._proposing_ to me, just now? Like you actually want me to be your wife, not just call me your wife cos you're jealous and don't-"

"Well, yeah, but did you not know that, Rose? I told you, back on the beach, that I wanted to spend my life with you. I've been trying to give you some time, to figure things out. But...well, to be perfectly honest, I'm rubbish at deciphering your signals."

An idea hit him and he abruptly let go of the twisted-up swing, sending it and Rose twirling while he dug deep in his coat pocket. She dragged her heels in the patchy grass to slow herself. "What are you doing?" she asked, rocking back and forth on her perch, watching him.

"I want to try something- aha!" Search successful, he took the sparkling ring out and held it up, acknowledging her shocked gasp with a roguish smirk and a tilt of his head. "Yes," he said clearly, "this is exactly what it looks like. It's a ring; the sort that a bloke offers to the woman he is madly in love with when he wants her to marry him. Now I can ask you again if you want, get down on one knee and everything if you fancy the old human tradition, but in order for this to work you need to do your part and give me an answer, yeah? Simple yes or no."

Rose stared at the ring as if mesmerized, and maybe she was; the moon's pale light set the translucent alien stones ablaze in a way that would put an ordinary diamond to shame. The Doctor shifted the ring around in his fingers, trying to provoke some sort of reaction out of her.

It worked. One of Rose's hands went to her mouth, and she used the other to pluck the ring straight from his fingertips.

"Not quite sure how I should take this," he said, unable to mask his shock. She'd made no move to wear the ring, or even really look at it, aside from her intense study of the inside of the band.

All at once she thrust it back his way, her hand shaking slightly. "There's writing in there. Your language. Does it...does it say Bad Wolf?"

"What?" he said, looking at the band's inner curve automatically, as if it might have changed on him when he wasn't looking. "No, of course not. Why-" his nose wrinkled up as it dawned on him what she was getting at. "You think that's why I want to marry you? Because Bad Wolf decided it?"

She popped up off the swing and began pacing a line in the grass. "That's why you're here, isn't it? It's why you _exist_. Because a nothing, ordinary girl from the estates decided it would be a dream come true. Take a Time Lord, make him into her very own part-human prince."

"Rose-"

"You told me all about it, remember?" She continued to pace, hands clenched, her knuckles gone white. "I absorbed the vortex, and I brought Jack back forever, and I had power over- what did you say? 'All that is, that was, all that ever could be.' I had the chance to make my own future, and I took it. And I gave myself everything I ever wanted." Heaving a breath, Rose paused and looked over at him with tortured, red-rimmed eyes. "Including your love."

Sucker-punched, the Doctor managed a tiny shake of his head, his mouth opening and closing as though it knew that he needed to be spitting out a million reassurances,_ right now_, and an airtight rebuttal, but the only thing his brain seemed capable of tossing onto his tongue at the moment was one curse word after another.

He bit them back with difficulty, dragging a hand down his face. How could she think...oh, this was all his fault, him and his recent, ridiculous inability to think through anything properly when she was involved. He hadn't wanted her to bear any burden from Bad Wolf, _ever_, but Rose had wrangled the whole story out of him, having witnessed Jack's miraculous return to the land of the living. Blast, he'd have conjured up something, anything, the cleverest lie-_ oh yeah, Rose, all Time Agents are immortal, didn't I mention it?_ -if he'd in any way anticipated how she might take the truth and twist it until it morphed into this...this monstrosity.

"No," he said, marching over to her. Taking hold of her upper arms, he waited until she met his intense gaze. "Listen to me. You. Are. Wrong. You used that power to destroy the Daleks, to save billions of people, and yes, to bring Jack back. Why would you do all that, if you were only concerned with yourself? Why..." he slid his hands down to her elbows, "why didn't you change your own past? Undo what happened to your dad? Sure, Bad Wolf led you back to me, and while I'm forever grateful for that, there is no way it created this me just to be in love with you."

Her gaze skittered away but she didn't remove herself from his grasp. "I think it's the only way your loving me makes any sense."

He laughed, raw and harsh, and took his hands off her to toss them out to the side. "Oh, now there's a challenge. Love a challenge, me. What do you expect I might say to that? Maybe something like- a person doesn't know why they love another, they just do?"

"I've heard it said before," she said dully, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Not from me you haven't. And the people that believe it? They've never been in love; at least not like this. It's understandable; I mean, before we met, I didn't believe I was capable of loving someone the way I love you. It blew me away right from the start, the way we just fit together. And once I discovered your brilliance, your loving heart, your compassion...I was absolutely done for. By the time we met _Dickens_ I was already openly admitting it to myself."

Rose absorbed this with wide, wary eyes, still hugging herself but not nearly so tightly. Her thumb and forefinger twisted in the fabric of her short sleeves. "It's...it's the openly admitting it to me part that I don't get. 'S like, it's so easy for you now. You're constantly telling me how you feel, and you're so forward-" he started to apologize and Rose silenced him with a glare, "and it's everything I ever wished for. _Wished_ for- all the time knowing that I couldn't have it, because before, you never would have done this."

Despite the fact that she'd just pretty much admitted she wanted him, anxiety welled up in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he stuck a hand in his hair. This was not a road, no, scratch that, _minefield_, he'd intended on traveling tonight. There was no in-between answer for this. The truth might come across far too strong. Or worse yet- leave her longing after his other self.

"You could blame it on my new bits of humanity, Rose," he started slowly, "my shorter life, just as easily as you could blame Bad Wolf. But, well, even if you did you'd be wrong then too. Because truth is," he heaved a breath and blew it out, "I always wanted this. I didn't pursue things because, well, mainly I didn't think I deserved it. You're so young, Rose, so innocent, and everything that I'm not. And...you don't know what it means, to enter into that sort of relationship with a Time Lord."

He trailed off. Rose raised her brows. Lord help him, she wanted him to elaborate.

"Maybe," he fumbled on, feeling his cheeks redden and burn, "um, if my feelings for you hadn't been as quite strong as they were- anyway. As it was, and with me being a telepath, it wouldn't have been possible for us to have less than something...ah, permanent. _Literally_ permanent."

Her eyebrows rose higher. His shoulders hunched, and, cringing, he spit it out all in a rush. "It's a Gallifreyan... thing; unavoidable with intimacy. A, uh, mind link. Essentially marriage for my people."

Rose gave him a look like she wanted to roll her eyes. "I'd already promised you forever. Sounds like this link thing was something for you to be scared of, far more than me."

Somewhat thrown by her nonchalance, he stared at her. "I was," he replied, slowly. "But the instant I saw you again, standing on that street...I wasn't scared of anything anymore. It was my second chance. Point is, Rose, the meta-crisis had nothing to do with my loving you, or the fact that I want to be with you. It would have happened either way," he admitted, rubbing an eye tiredly. "And I'm sorry he misled you about it, but, well, even that was out of love. He truly thought you'd be happier here."

Rose's forehead creased, and even in the dimness he caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes before she blinked rapidly, turning away from him. She faced the house with her back to the Doctor. "I was so sure that this," she waved a hand behind her to gesture between them, "you, this you- was my doing. I should be thrilled to be wrong, but I'm not. I don't want one of you to be heartbroken. I _hate_ to think that he's hurting. Why does this have to be so bloody complicated?"

She had her arms around herself again, shivering. He wasn't sure if it was more from nerves or from the definite temperature drop, but if it wasn't the perfect excuse to go to her he didn't know what was. Quickly shrugging out of his pinstriped jacket, he went to drape it over her shoulders from behind. "He'd hate to know that you were denying yourself happiness," he said softly near her ear, tucking the coat more snugly around her. "He wants you to have a fantastic life; and I would know. Cos after all, I'm him, remember?"

Her golden head tipped back, resting against his chest. "Stop saying all the right things."

"Can't help it. Genius, me."

She laughed a little, resting her weight more fully against him, and he tried to remember how to breathe. They stood there together, savoring their newfound closeness, content to let the chirps of lovelorn crickets and rush of friendly little breezes take their turn to fill the silence.

"You alright? he asked her, after a short period during which he'd dared to wrap his arms snugly around her, got away with it, and learnt just how much he enjoyed the actual reality of a back-to-front embrace.

"Yeah," she said, turning in his arms, and tilting her face up to his with a small smile. "Just thinking about everything. About us, and how much I love you. Wondering what I ever did that you, of all people, should love me."

The question was rhetorical, but he answered it anyway.

"You saved me," he told her, his eyes open and earnest. "Not just physically, but with your love, your loyalty, your hand in mine. Your_self_. Rose, you not only made me want to live again, you made me realize that, even more than nine-centuries in, I'd never really lived before."

For an instant he wondered if it was too much; her face crumpled just the tiniest bit, but then she went up on tiptoes, her parted lips pressing gently against his. With a small, startled inhale, his arms tightened around her and he sank into the kiss, eyes slamming shut.

Slowly, slowly, their mouths moved together, sliding, learning, brief partings only to reconnect even more deeply, with the growing sense that this was further settling things between them, their verbal expressions of love becoming solid and tangible. Rose traced her fingers up as they continued to kiss, over his shoulders and neck and into his hair, tugging to draw him closer. The thoroughly dazed Doctor (who had forgotten he even owned things like _legs_ and _feet_) overbalanced, and stumbled into her instead. Parting abruptly, he nearly whimpered when she blindly chased his mouth with her own.

It was, by far, the best sign yet.

"So," he said, breathing hard, as they stood with foreheads pressed together, "you know that question I asked you, earlier? I just want to say that I understand if you need time and..."

"Doctor," she said, slowly sliding her hands out of his hair and down the front of his shirt. "I made my choice a long time ago."

Her accompanying smile was wide and meaningful, but he wasn't having it. He plucked her hands from his chest and held them tight in his own, stepping back to put a bit of space between them. "Okay, that's brilliant, Rose, I enjoy it when you say that, but right now I'm not too sure if I'm understanding you correctly. Simple answers, remember? So- is 'I made my choice' a poetic way of saying 'yes'? As in 'yes', you'll marry me? You can see where I might be confused, because the first time you ever said that to me it certainly wasn't after a marriage proposal, and then there's this problem I've had lately where my synapses just don't seem to be firing properly whenever you're around so-"

"Doctor-"

"-and you've probably made a lot of choices since then, any of which you might be referring to-"

She yanked him toward her, halting the oncoming ramble with her lips on his, and he felt her smile.

"The first one," she said, once she pulled back a little, her breath warm on his chin. "I meant yes, as in yes, I'll marry you. You had it right."

"I did?" Joyous and laughing, he swept her into a hug, then spun her, round and round. "I'm back," he declared, delighted.

"You're daft, is what you are," Rose giggled. "Put me down."

He did, but didn't relinquish his hold on her. "_I'm_ daft? You're the one who's marrying me." And this time it was he who initiated the kiss and prolonged it, for long, long, uninterrupted minutes of bliss, as if making up for years of missed opportunities. As if he needed to kiss her for the man he once was- the lonely one who would never have this, forever denied the fulfillment of a most treasured dream.

When they eventually separated the Doctor tugged Rose along to the swing, then sat on it, drawing her onto his lap. She snuggled against him and they rocked there, slowly, talking about everything and nothing until the mansion's outside lights came on, flooding the lawn in brightness.

"Mum's probably wondering where we are," said Rose, pressing a kiss to his cheek and then reluctantly sliding off of him.

Wincing, he gave her some faint reply before clenching his eyes shut, taken with a sudden, inexplicable dizzy spell. He heard Rose say his name as the cold, sick feeling continued creeping over him, entirely out of place in the previously romantic atmosphere, standing his hair on end and prickling his skin.

"Doctor? You okay?"

He nodded, slitting his eyes open to behold a worried Rose. He managed to drag himself to his feet, hunched forward, holding tightly to the lines of the swing. Rose scooted under his arm. She spoke to him, but his attention was drawn to the woods by a muted rustling a few metres away, and a highly unexpected tug in the back of his mind, a place that had been silent ever since he'd lost the TARDIS.

Hastily drawing out his screwdriver, he flicked it on, shining its light toward the area in question. Instead of the hoped-for rodent or scavenging animal, what he illuminated there was the outline of a human woman. Her blonde hair glowed greenly for an instant under the sonic's beam, and then she vanished into the inky darkness. He sucked in a breath. "Do you get many paparazzos out here?"

"Sometimes," Rose groaned. "Please, don't tell me you see one."

"Not sure," he said, having no desire to chase after the mysterious figure, and not entirely sure why that was. "Probably best to head in."

She agreed, and hand in hand, they headed away from the woods. "What happened to you back there?" queried Rose, looking up at him.

He smiled, and gave a half-shrug. "My time-sense came back online, as it were. Good to know I've still got it."

He decided not to tell her why it had affected him so strongly. Whoever had been watching them tonight was not meant to have been there. The brief read he'd gotten of her biological signature had been inconclusive, but heavy with temporal distortion. A Time Agent, possibly. Or maybe it _was_ a paparazzo, and she'd just obtained a career-making photo of the Vitex heiress and her new beau- her timeline forever altered by him and Rose, two people who should never have existed in this universe. It would be the simplest explanation, and the likeliest. He didn't even want to think about how many others they might affect similarly in the coming years.

"Wonder what Mum and Dad'll say; they'll be so surprised," said Rose, as they arrived at the rear of the mansion. "I do feel sort of bad though, telling them about it in front of Andrew." She stretched her left hand out with a smile, admiring the starry gems adorning her fourth finger. "Maybe we should wait until after he's gone home."

"Nah, why should we? After I've done him such a favor?"

Rose gaped at him, aghast. "You've done him a _what_ now?"

"Oh yeah," the Doctor said, grinning like mad and oblivious to her glare. He dropped her hand and leaped on to the top of the patio wall. "Bloke owes me big time, and I want him to know it."

He looked back toward the edge of the grounds, and the moon was plenty bright enough tonight for him to make out a tall, narrow, rectangular structure, painted a radiant, inimitable blue. Well, not painted. Why go to all the trouble when you could alter anything you wanted about a thing's appearance with a simple perception filter? His grin widened as he imagined Jackie's face, tomorrow, when he reset it to look like an Atraxi spaceship.

"Yep," he went on, cheerily, jumping down and going over to unlock one of the french doors with the sonic screwdriver. "Good thing I was here to fix up that dangerous, boring shack that he built. Now it's a real, proper playhouse."


	4. Chapter 4

**Huge spoilers warning!** Oh, and I might as well warn for massive amounts of angst too, while I'm at it. The main story, and its sugary sweetness, is over. If you have not read "The Consequences of Dreaming", this last part will make no sense, and you will be seriously spoiled for that story. If you really, really want to know who was spying on them from the woods, I suggest you find out there. :)

It absolutely killed me to write this. I'm so sorry. I promise to make it better.

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><p>She <em>had<em> felt quite sorry for Andrew. He'd been so shocked, first looking at her and then at her gorgeous, glittering ring, with blue eyes that were wide and questioning, even slightly betrayed. But at the same time it was actually kind of funny. Honestly, in what skewed version of reality did he live in, thinking he'd had a chance? Not only had Rose deflected his advances for years, but she had also been practically glued to the Doctor's side all day. Clearly the bloke's ego had needed a bit of deflating.

Anyway, he couldn't have been too heartbroken over it. He'd married less than two years later and moved to the States.

Rose had never laid eyes on him again and hadn't ever really thought of him either. Not until tonight. Now she thought of Andrew with a vengeance, his murkily remembered image and insipid past remarks becoming her mental barricade against thinking of another man entirely.

_Him_.

Stomach twisting, Rose forced herself to move along, decaying leaves and other woodsy debris crunching under her trainers, feeling slow and drained as if she were slogging through water or knee-deep snow. Once safely back in the TARDIS, then she could think of him. And she would, she'd pour over every tiny instant of him, but if she started now she might fall apart- or worse yet, turn around and march straight back. She still fought the urge with every step, and wished she hadn't needed to park the time-ship quite so far away.

At least the moon was bright, thankfully eliminating the need for a torch. Surely the Doctor's eagle eyes would have picked _that_ out in no time. It hadn't taken much more than a few snapped twigs for him to hear her tonight (or sense her or whatever), which was entirely unexpected, since she didn't at all remember him having done so the first time.

Rose had long forgotten about the supposed 'paparazzo'. Nothing had ever come of it, and the couple of months following their engagement had been such a whirlwind of wedding planning and happiness, she and the Doctor so totally wrapped up in one another, so giddy with love that she didn't remember much of _anything _else...

Lips pinching tight, a lump came up into her throat. "Stop it," Rose commanded herself aloud. She inhaled deeply, a shuddering breath, and blinked back the tears that pricked hot in her eyes. She couldn't succumb to this now, whatever _this_ was, euphoria mixed with heartbreak and so many other powerful and conflicting emotions that she hadn't the slightest chance of naming them all, never mind controlling them.

She just hadn't expected to react so strongly to seeing him again- him, really him, not a holographic image or a memory or a faded scent on her pillows- that it had been all she could do to not bridge those few metres separating them and run to him. To pour out the whole story and just let him _fix it_.

Fix it, like he always fixed everything.

His noticing her had been the wake-up call she'd urgently needed. One second she'd been burning with jealousy of her younger self and the next he was pointing the sonic her way; Rose had run off like a scared rabbit. Which begged the question: If he hadn't done...when would she have ever found it possible to leave him? Unwittingly, the Doctor had prevented her from taking this to the next, increasingly dangerous level.

Rose, feeling warm and whole and more alive than she had in a long time, by that time had already contrived nearly half a dozen ways to prolong her unlawful visit. And why not? This was _her_ life, wasn't it? Not only that, but this particular night was important, the beginning of their forever, and to suddenly discover how blurred her memories of it actually were, how many precious moments had been lost over time- well, it was almost criminal. This was a second chance. She could reclaim every word he'd spoken to her, every loving look, and safely store them away like the long-lost treasures they were.

She wanted to listen at windows, to hear if his crow of _"Rose is gonna marry me!"_ was just as exuberant and joyful as she remembered it.

She wanted to laugh all over again at the immediate row that had fired up between him and Jackie, over the _wedding_ that he'd apparently not realized said marriage would necessitate.

She wanted all of it. This beginning, and then their whole life together.

She wanted it back.

But it was impossible.

No, Rose told herself firmly, as she upon the dark silhouette of the TARDIS and jammed her key in the lock. Crossing your own timeline is far too risky. This was a one time thing. You can never do this again.

Yet, like anyone who has given in to the temptation to try a powerful, mind-altering narcotic, by the time Rose shut the door, alone once again in a far too quiet ship, she was already fending off the nasty withdrawal symptoms in the way any addict would.

By devising ways that she might get her next fix.

She circled the console mechanically, mind fully elsewhere as she began pulling levers and shifting knobs, preparing for dematerialization. Rose paused altogether when she came to enter the coordinates into the navigational slide control.

She was lost in memories- so many events, moonlit walks, simple trips to the coffee-shop. Lovely things, part of their everyday life, nothing momentous or dangerous. She could simply observe, go unseen, so easily.

Being near him, hearing his voice, watching him breathe, just for a bit, had made her feel... not alone. And that's what he wanted, wasn't it? For her to not be alone?

Hand already hovering over the keys, a pang of guilt stabbed her painfully through the heart. Rose knew she was rationalizing. That this was in _no way_ what he had wanted. She had made him a promise.

And she was breaking it.

But... he would never know.

Rose rested her weight against the console, thinking back over what she'd heard him say tonight.

_"You used that power to destroy the Daleks, to save billions of people...why would you do all that, if you were only concerned with yourself?"_

_"...there is no way it created this me just to be in love with you."_

All of this was true. Rose couldn't refute a word of it. Even if she had tried to hold onto her belief of having created the meta-crisis Doctor just to love her, she would have been proved one hundred percent wrong that one fateful weekend when the two-hearted Time Lord dropped back into her life, having risked crossing the Void just to help her.

If that in itself hadn't been evidence enough of his feelings, the look in his newly deep-set eyes would have done it. He was indeed the same man as the one she'd married, albeit with floppier hair and awkward limbs and a newfound fondness for braces and bow-ties. But the same courage, same passion, same soul. Same love for Rose Tyler.

After it was all over, her own Doctor had always maintained that his other self would never really get over her. Not that it was anything special of Time Lords; it was just the way of boundless, endless love.

It didn't bother him much to say it, once his competition was out of the way and all. But Rose never wanted to hear it. It was painful, it made her feel guilty, and besides, he only ever brought it up after some sort of close call. Why he'd bring it up then was no secret at all.

_"He's me. There's no reason you should stay and be alone here."_

There was, though.

Bad Wolf- no, _Rose Tyler,_ had created a second, part-human version of the man she desired above all else.

Apparently, he was so important to her that she'd made herself a spare.

For Rose Tyler, temporary goddess, had used her power to make sure she would have everything she ever wanted. Just not all at once.

And the Doctor- both of him- was the one who paid the price for all of it.

No more.

Rose rubbed her tired eyes and set the coordinates.

Her husband had always sworn up and down that Bad Wolf had acted only out of love, and not selfishness. And for a long, long while, she had been more than happy to dismiss her prior opinion and believe him.

These days, though?

Rose tended to think that she'd had it right the first time, after all.

Jaw set determinedly, she threw the final lever down. As the time rotor pulsed, obediently launching the ship into the Vortex, Rose headed off down the corridor to find herself a pretty dress.

_Fifth of June, 2011. _Special Vitex gala.

It had been a very good night.

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><p>Coming soon: Eleven and Rose reunite in "The Aftermath of Forever".<p> 


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